


Atop the Roof

by DeityinWhitechapel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Contemplation, Fog, Gen, Laughter, Rain, Storms, rooftop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:43:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeityinWhitechapel/pseuds/DeityinWhitechapel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-storm contemplations as seen from a roof top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atop the Roof

There he sat, astride the slate shingles of their old family home. He sighed and stared at the bleak, grey landscape that spread out below him. The slender, anemic fingers of his left hand wrapped firmly around the silver handle of his umbrella as he stood to his full height to obtain a better view of the humble town. Leaning against the moss covered brick chimney helped to steady himself against the enthusiastic wind that combed it's willowy digits through his dark hair, tugging at his slight curls with a certain teasing grace. His black clothes seemed to fit the howl of the wind and the groans of the houses as they resigned themselves to the storm ahead like a somber leather glove to a frostbitten hand. The sky above was brimming with low hanging, pregnant clouds ready to birth a truly monstrous gale onto the mess of venerable houses and uneven streets. The wool of his grey coat scraped against the worn bricks at his back as he slid down to crouch against them. A lone dog cried mournfully somewhere in the confusion of streets, he listened to it's warning silently and hefted his navy umbrella to allow it the opportunity to serve it's purpose when the time came. Waiting for a storm to let loose in all it's fury generally isn't a smart idea, but in this moment that seemed a distant concern to the young man. The dog was called back into it's home, leaving him with the promise of a holy tempest as his only company. He was thankful that nobody else was mad enough to sit on their roofs in the present climate. The young man enjoyed the suspense and heavy silence that had and always would foreshadow a storm. The heavy air lent perspective to his life, leaving him with a surreal sense of clarity. Thunder roared somewhere in the distance followed quickly by a flash of lightning that struck a rooftop across town. Suddenly, as though prompted by the flick of a puppeteer's skeletal wrist the young man stood, braced his feet against the slate and began his descent of the lichen spattered roof. Peering over the side lent a view of the copper gutters gone green with time. Their once empty throats clogged with dead leaves and fallen twigs. He let out a huff of breath that fled to join it's brothers in the stifling air and sat with slender legs dangling over the side of the roof and waited. He contemplated the pillowy fog that had announced the oncoming storm like a lord studying his domain. He watched the territorial fog as it wrapped itself in snug coils around the hushed village with a god-like complacency. Steadily, the hushed pitter patter of raindrops striking stone filled the air. He closed his eyes and allowed his umbrella to fall away from his face. The long-awaited rain soaked his hair and trickled down the contours of his alabaster face and fragile neck with the reverence of a soulmate's gentle caress. He sat there for a moment longer then he let out a small chuckle, the cheerful sound reverberated through the pelting rain.


End file.
